


Take the Shot

by weepingnaiad



Category: Marvel 616, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Backstory, But after they were something MORE, Clint and Natasha before they were partners and BFFs, Could Be Canon, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Pre-Slash, Trust
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-24
Updated: 2012-06-24
Packaged: 2017-11-08 11:37:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/442810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weepingnaiad/pseuds/weepingnaiad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><b>Summary:</b>  Just how did Clint bring Natasha in and why?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Take the Shot

**Author's Note:**

> **A/N:** Yes, another fic. No, this isn't the next chapter of my WIP, but that's coming. This dropped into my head and wouldn't leave. So, I wrote it.
> 
> Backstory that fits pretty much all my stories and for the hurt-comfort bingo square, _trust issues._
> 
>  **Beta:** Thanks to hitlikehammers for the speedy read-through and for all her lovely support!
> 
>  **Disclaimer:** These are Marvel and Whedon’s characters used in the spirit of creative commons. I promise to return them with smiles on.

“Take the shot,” Coulson murmurs in Clint’s ear.

Clint tenses, aims. He’s conditioned to respond to Coulson’s command, yet he hesitates. There are memories, of red hair, soft skin, warmth and murmuring among tangled limbs, but it’s not those memories that still his hand.

“Barton?” Coulson repeats. “Take the shot.”

He releases the tension on his bow and shakes his head. He can’t do it. Not with the recollection of haunted eyes eating at him. It was just a glimpse from a security feed, but it was more than enough.

“Take the shot. Now.” Coulson’s voice has a subtle edge to it. He’s getting impatient as their window narrows.

“Sorry, sir. I can’t do that.” Clint says. He hopes he doesn’t regret this. It’s going to cost him a lot with his handler, more capital than he has to gamble with. But it’s the right thing to do. He pulls the comm out of his ear and drops it to the roof, grinding it underneath his heel.

It is quick work to pack up his gear and stow his duffle in a bus station locker. He’s not made by either side and he doesn’t lose the target. He’s learned a thing or three in the last five years.

“Natasha,” he says as he steps in front of her. “Come with me. Please?” he asks, his voice low.

She hesitates, eyes darting around the crowded open air market, assessing.

“There’s no time. You trusted me once—”

“I betrayed you,” she replies.

“Turns out it was the best thing that you could have done for me,” he offers, giving her a slight grin. “And I believe you did it _for_ me, not _to_ me.”

She’s wary and her eyes are shuttered, defensive. She doesn’t trust him and she shouldn’t, but they have to move before Coulson calls in backup to retrieve his wayward asset and finish the job Clint couldn’t.

He’s careful not to touch her, even more careful not to turn his back on her, so they stride side-by-side, two old friends coming across each other while shopping. Clint leads them to a coffee stand. There are four tables, all but one of them taken. He buys a double espresso for himself and a black tea for her.

They sit with their backs to the wall of the little hut, the heavy traffic and bright umbrellas shielding them from watchful eyes. The respite won’t last long, but Clint doesn’t need a lot of words. Either she’ll come in, or she won’t. He’s probably screwed either way, but whatever happens to him, he hopes it goes down the right way for her.

Before he can say a word, Natasha is looking at him, her eyes hooded as she measures him. “Why didn’t you take the shot?”

He’s not surprised she knew about the finding. She’s that good, always has been. But this is different. Natasha is different. Not vulnerable, that would never be the right word to use to describe her, but lost. 

Alone.

He sighs, takes a sip of his coffee and forces himself to keep his head in the game and out of the past. “You reminded me of someone I used to know.” He shrugs, as if that was enough of an explanation. But then he reconsiders. Says, “I thought I’d make you the same offer I was given.”

“Can you honestly make that offer?” She’s studying him, looking for the loophole, the switch, the con.

“No,” he grins, unabashed. “But I have a problem with authority…” Catching sight of a suit in the crowd, he stands, cocking his head toward the back. “And rules,” he finishes, offering his hand. “That hasn’t changed. You coming?”

She looks at his hand for a long second, then clasps it before releasing it.

It’s short work for them to lose their pursuers as they disappear into the crowd.

~~*~~

Clint’s more nervous than he’d like to believe possible. He and Phil had talked about this safehouse, about the retreat _just in case,_ but this scenario is nothing they’d considered. Clint had thought he could do the job, but even as he’d been going through the parameters, running the walkthrough with Coulson, a part of him had already decided that he wasn’t taking the shot. Not without talking to Natasha first.

So here he is. Across the street from the only place in the city that SHIELD proper doesn’t know about. Coulson’s thoroughness and consideration of all the possibilities makes this a sure bet, except that there’s the problem of Clint’s handler himself. _He_ set this up.

It’s a gamble Clint’s willing to take. If nothing else, Coulson’s wounded pride should keep him from loading the place with explosives or a shit ton of agents. He hopes, anyway.

They’ve been watching for hours now with no activity in or around the flat. It seems like Coulson’s assumed that Clint is running. Clint snorts. That would normally be his first instinct. Grab everything and _go._ It’s what got him on Natasha’s radar when they first met and it’s the thing that keeps him always on point; that constant itch under his skin if he’s in one place for too long. The fact that he has to fight to _stay._ The scariest thing is that the itch has lessened over the past year, gotten to the point that Clint even bought a few things for his apartment. Pots. Pans. A couch. Stuff he can’t carry in his pack.

Well, shit can be replaced.

When Natasha returns from another circuit, he nods toward the flat. She agrees.

And they go in.

Luckily, he goes in first. He really shouldn’t be surprised that Coulson is there waiting for them in the dark. The man has the patience of a rock. And he knows Clint, apparently. Too well for Clint’s comfort.

The laser sight flicks across his chest and Clint stiffens, holds up his hand as Natasha closes the door behind them. He backs up, presses her against the wall, protecting her with his bulk. She doesn’t need it, but Clint doesn’t want this to go wrong. For some reason he won’t examine, he gives a damn about these two people.

“Barton, you have ten seconds to explain.”

“Ten?” Clint swallows, takes a deep breath and forces the tension to leach from his body. Natasha hasn’t moved, but he can feel her even breathing against his back. “I can do it quicker than that, bossman.”

Clint adds the last, drops the ‘sir’ because he has so little time to explain and he needs Coulson to understand that this is personal.

“Seven.”

“You made me an offer once. I’m doing the same for Romanoff.”

The silence lingers, longer than seven seconds, but the laser disappears from his chest. “That was not in the mission parameters,” Coulson argues, his voice firm, but giving away nothing. 

Clint wishes he could see the man. Coulson knows how to school his expressions, keeps most things firmly hidden behind a carefully practiced mask, but Clint has learned a lot over the years, and he can read Coulson pretty well.

He takes another chance and replies, “It wasn’t in mine, either. Sir.”

That gets him a softly huffed chuckle. “When did you hack your file, Barton?”

Clint grins. “I gave it a month, but I had to know.”

“You could have asked. I don’t lie to you.” Clint flinches. There’s a hint of accusation in Coulson’s tone. And, yeah, Clint probably should have trusted him then, definitely should have trusted him now. But Clint has trust issues. Plus, there’s something else going on here with regards to his handler and _that_ shit is more dangerous than letting his guard down in a brawl.

Natasha shifts, stepping out from behind Clint. “Are we done with this little love-fest? Your agent offered me a chance. I accepted. If this isn’t going to happen, I need to know.” There’s an amazing lack of emotion in her voice, but Clint can feel the coiled tension, the way she’s got all her weight balanced on her back foot, her hand resting over concealed weapons. This can all go south pretty quickly and Clint can’t let that happen even if her comment hit a little too close to home. On his part at least. Because he’s nothing but an asset to Coulson.

Clint slides a step to the right, blocking Natasha’s off hand, crowds her a little. “Sir, I gave you plausible deniability.” He doesn’t have to add that he gave Coulson the opportunity to take them both down if it comes to it.

“If you’re vouching for your _girlfriend,_ ” he says, a subtle sneer in his voice, “then I’ll vouch for you.”

Clint hears Coulson take a step back, hears the click of a safety being engaged, the rustle of Kevlar-reinforced fabric, then a lamp flares on. Clint has to swallow, clench his jaw from saying anything. He’s unused to seeing Coulson like this. The tac suit conforms to Coulson’s body, highlights the hardened Ranger that’s usually concealed under loose suits, and Clint’s mouth would be watering except for the steely glint in Coulson’s blue eyes. And when the hell had Clint started cataloging the many hues of his handler’s eyes? That thought, too, he represses, and rather quickly before he can freak the hell out about it.

Natasha’s looking at him, waiting for something, and then Clint realizes that he hasn’t actually answered Coulson. “Of course I vouch for her!” he snaps. “Did you think I did all this as an exercise? On a whim? Goddammit, Coulson! I don’t trust _anyone,_ but I’m doing this. Handing her to _you._ ” And that last sentence just illustrates how fucked Clint is. It belies the sentence before and points out that there _is_ someone he trusts. He almost wishes for a raid to stop the buzzing in his head. “Can we cut the chit-chat short and get out of here before everything goes to hell?”

Coulson’s giving him a look that Clint can’t parse and Natasha swears quietly under her breath when Coulson orders into his comm, “Stand down.” So. Well, that sucks. Makes Clint wonder just how he’d missed their tail.

Then Coulson turns his head and looks at Natasha, his face shifts into that unreadable mask that took Clint far too long to parse. He’s assessing and quietly running through a thousand scenarios before he settles on his chosen course of action. “Ms. Romanoff, there is a plane waiting for us, wheels up in an hour. Is that long enough for you to collect your belongings?”

Natasha blinks, her body uncoiling slightly. “I have all I intend to take with me.”

“Very well, you can ride with me.” He offers her that barely there smile and Clint is _not_ jealous. Not in the least. But it does strike a chord in him, all the more because of the rarity of it. 

“Welcome aboard,” Coulson adds and Natasha nods, almost _smiles._ And, shit. What the hell did he start?

“And you, Barton,” Coulson starts, his lips pursing tightly. “Find your own way, after your retrieve your gear.” He pauses. “And don’t think that the discussion about this is over.”

Something gives a flip-flop in Clint’s stomach as he watches Coulson – his _handler,_ he reminds himself – lift a pack onto his shoulder and sweep out of the room with Natasha.

Clint is fucked in so many more ways than one. What _the hell_ had he been thinking? He’s just handed his ex over to his handler, the man that he just now realized that he has a goddamned crush on. 

_Shit._

Turns out that he is pretty fucked, but not for any of the ways he’d ever imagined. It’s surprising how well Coulson (Phil) and Natasha get along. What’s worse is how they combine forces against (for) Clint.

It’d make him smile, except that he’s quaking in his boots, but that’s a story for another time.

Right now he’d better get his gear and get a move on. Before Natasha and Phil start comparing notes.


End file.
